


Van GERTI

by Xanoka



Series: Supernatural Pressure [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Crossover, Dracula - Freeform, Fandot Creativity, Gen, Halloween Special, Humour, Vampires, fangs, spooky creativity night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanoka/pseuds/Xanoka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MJN's trusty crew have dealt with some rather eccentric clients over the years, but this one might just take the biscuit.  A remote Transylvanian castle, creepy servant and suspicious behaviour are one thing, but the coffin really should have tipped them off... Written for the Spooky Fandot Creativity Night prompt 'Fangs'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a full moon night at Bucharest’s International Airport and Captain Martin Crieff was becoming impatient.

“Where’s Carolyn?  She’s taking ages!”

He glanced sideways at Arthur, who was holding his phone as high above his head as he could while he attempted to find signal.

“Any luck?”

“Not yet, skip, but I’m really close.  If I just…” He stretched up onto his tiptoes, lost his balance, did a little pirouette, then shouted triumphantly: “OK, I’ve got it!  I’ve got signal!”

He gleefully typed in his mum’s phone number and waited as it dialled.

“Hello, Mum?  Are you on your way?  It’s just that skip’s complaining and – ”

“I’m _not_ complaining.  Don’t tell her I’m complaining!”

“Oh, he is, is he?”

Martin cringed.

“Yeah, well.  He seems fine now,” Arthur continued.  “We just wanted to check on how you were.”

“We’re fine,” she replied shortly.  “This bloody client lives out in the middle of bloody nowhere.  You’d think he could have given us better directions!  And it’s no use asking the locals.  They just cross themselves and run away!  I ask you!  What’s the good in that?”

Arthur hummed sympathetically, knowing his mother required no input from him.

In the background he heard rustling and Douglas’ voice.

“Actually, Carolyn, I think we’ve arrived.”

There was a short pause and then –

“Good _Lord_!  It’s actually a castle!  An honest-to-God castle!”

“What?  Really!  Ohhh, I would have loved to see a castle!  What’s it like?”

Unfortunately, there was a strange shrieking noise, then the line went dead.

“Oh!” Arthur pouted disconsolately.   “The signal’s gone.  That’s really disappointing!  I wanted to hear more about the castle.”

Martin patted his shoulder soothingly.

“Don’t worry, Arthur.  I’m sure Carolyn and Douglas will tell us _all_ about it when they get back.”

“Yeah, I know.  But, it’s just, I never get to see castles.  Mum’s so lucky!”

 

* * *

 

 

Carolyn, however, was not feeling lucky.  She was feeling rather unnerved.

The honest-to-God castle was perched on the edge of a mountain like something out of a horror movie, silhouetted menacingly against the sky.  As she got out of the car she could even hear bats squeaking in the twilight.

It didn’t help that the massive wooden doors creaked ominously open, apparently of their own accord at their approach.

A wizened old man holding a lantern stepped into their line of sight, peering at them suspiciously.  It was time to take the bull by the horns.

“Good evening.  My name is Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, I am the CEO of MJN Air.  This is First Officer Douglas Richardson.  I believe we are expected?”

“Ahhhhh, yesssss,” the old man replied in heavily accented English.  “Master waits.  Follow.”

He turned and shuffled away.  He had a hunchback.

She heard Douglas snort and mutter to himself.  It sounded like, “Are they having us on?”  Carolyn was inclined to agree.

They followed the creepy old man through many equally creepy corridors, all bare, cold stone, heavy blood red velvet curtains at every window and cobweb festooned torch brackets.  Their client did not appear to have heard of electricity.  It made her wonder how he had telephoned them.

Eventually, they arrived at what appeared to be a library.  This was a little more welcoming than the rest of the castle, complete with a roaring fire in a hearth big enough to park Martin’s van, an arm chair and several chaise-longs in dark scarlet velvet.  It was musty with the smell of the old books lining the walls and a faint trace of a sickly sweet smell shecouldn’t quite identify.

Their host was seated in the wing-backed armchair closest to the fire.  He didn’t rise to greet them.  Typical bloody aristocrat.

“My guests.  I am Count Olaf.  You are welcome here,” he said and waved a hand idly at the nearest chaise long, inviting them to sit.

Carolyn did so and Douglas followed her after a moment’s hesitation.

The closer proximity allowed them both to survey the client. 

He had black hair, a hooked nose and full, sensuous lips, very dark red against yellowing teeth.  His eyes were deep-set, heavily hooded and very dark with a strange reddish tint, though that could have been a trick of the firelight.   His skin had a waxy, stretched appearance, giving him the look of a recovering invalid and making his age difficult to guess.  Carolyn sighed internally.  She hoped he had repatriation insurance. 

His clothes were tailored and distinctly outdated; a flowing white shirt with long, lacy cuffs, a dark green, brocaded waistcoat and velvet trousers .  The man appeared to have a fixation!  One almost claw-like hand gripped a rather ugly ruby-topped cane and he wore a protruding, matching ring set in gold which winked in the firelight.

“I trust your journey here was… pleasant.”

“Yes, thank you.  Though our directions left a _little_ to be desired,” Carolyn replied, trying to sound less irritated than she felt at the reminder.

Fortunately, the Count only laughed.  It was an unpleasant, wheezing sound.

“You must forgive my servant,” he said eventually.  “He is not completely, how do you say?  _Au fait_ with the modern road systems.”  He dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand.  “ _Peasants_.  They cannot be expected to know the world beyond their own village.”

Carolyn’s lips thinned.

“But you.  You are aviators, are you not?  You can take me to your country, to this – ”

“Fitton,” Douglas supplied.

“Yes.  Fitton.”  A strange smiled played on his lips.  “My cousin visited your country many years ago,” he added abruptly.  “He entrusted himself to maritime travel, but alas, there was a storm!  He arrived in time at Whitby, however, at great inconvenience.  I trust I may not expect such… deviations.”

“What?  No, certainly not!  Diversions are sometimes necessary, of course, but the forecast is for clear weather.”

“And I may not expect any delays?” he continued, not waiting for a response.  “I am… sensitive to the light.  I prefer to travel at night.”

“We are scheduled to leave Bucharest at eleven pm,” Carolyn replied stiffly.  “We should arrive in England well before morning.”

The count’s face cracked in a hideous smile and he clapped his hands imperiously, summoning the hunchbacked old man as if by magic.

“That is most excellent.  My servant shall prepare my baggage.  But forgive me.  I have been remiss.  May I offer you both some wine?  I do not drink… wine.  But I am assured we have an excellent vintage.”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m about to be driving a plane, so none for me either, thanks.”

The Count seemed taken aback, as if this was not the answer he had expected.  He recovered himself swiftly.

“Then pray excuse me for a moment, we shall adjourn.  We will meet again shortly beside your automobile.”

The library door creaked open, brooking no argument.

“Terrific!  Our client is completely mad!” Carolyn exclaimed as soon as they were safely outside.

“Yes, he does seem rather cracked, doesn’t he?  Think we should make a run for it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!  He’s a client and a wealthy one!  We’ll just have to humour him.  Lord knows, we’ve had plenty of practice.”

This resolution was immediately put to the test as the hunchbacked servant emerged out of the darkness, dragging a trailer piled high with luggage and a long, wooden coffin.

Douglas eyed it silently for a moment.

“Prepared, are we?”

“Never is the Master without his native soil.” The old man croaked, allowing the dig to sail over his head.

“Yes, but what do you expect us to _do_ with it?”  Carolyn demanded, glowering at the coffin with loathing.

The servant held up some thick rope and bungee cords by way of reply.

By the time the Count graced them with his presence, the mountain of baggage had been mostly stuffed into the boot and the coffin was lashed to the roof of the car.

“I’m sorry, Douglas,” Carolyn was saying.  “You’re just going to have to sit in the boot.  We need to put the seats down to make room.”

“But Carolyn, I can’t possibly sit in there!  There is absolutely no way I would fit.  You, on the other hand…”

She glared.

Half an hour later, they were finally underway, Douglas surrounded by trunks and clutching his knees, tucked almost to his chin. 

It was going to be a long journey.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carolyn puts Van Helsing to shame.

 

“Do you really think he’s a vampire?”  Arthur whispered, craning his neck around the cockpit’s door to stare unabashedly at the client as he settled himself in his seat.

“Of _course_ not, Arthur,” Martin replied in a bored tone.  “I never said he was.  _You_ said that.”

“But he’s got a coffin!”

Martin paused, stymied.  That _was_ strange.

“Look, there’s no such thing as vampires.  He’s just a crazy, rich old man, like Mr Birling.  He’s probably just got some weird fixation or something.  He _is_ pretty old.  Maybe it’s some kind of, I don’t know, death insurance.”

“But what if he wants to suck our blood!”

“Here’s an idea, Arthur.” Douglas said, returning from the walk around.  “Maybe vampires are like mosquitos.  Just eat lots of garlic and you’ll be fine.”

Martin rolled his eyes.  “ _Douglas._ You’re not helping.”

Arthur, however, had already disappeared into the galley.

“It doesn’t matter _what_ he is,” Carolyn declared, appearing suddenly in the doorway.  “What matters is that he’s paying us and he’s got the money to charter this plane.  Now, _miserable_ mortals, is there a reason you’re gossiping like old women, or are we ready to leave this god-awful country?”

“Oh, Mum!”  Arthur had returned.  “It’s not awful!  Romania’s brilliant!  It’s got mountains, and bears and _wolves_ and stuff.  And that cathedral we went to was really nice!”

“Indeed,” the Count materialised at Arthur’s shoulder, making him jump.  “My country is full of many wonders.  But who is this?  Another aviator?”

“No,” Carolyn replied shortly.  “This is my son, Arthur.  He is the plane’s steward.  And that’s Captain Martin Crieff, our pilot.”

Martin swelled with pride, but the Count ignored him in favour of staring at Arthur.

“Ah, your child…. Young Arthur, you must come to my humble home when next you visit this land.  The woods there are, indeed, filled with the Children of the Forest, making their unearthly music…” 

“Aww, yes please!”  Arthur grinned, apparently having forgotten his previous suspicions as the Count shuffled back to his seat.  “What a nice man!  See, Mum.  I told you Romania’s brilliant!”

Carolyn narrowed her eyes at him.  “ _You_ didn’t have to drive to the back of beyond on unmade roads for hours to that lunatic’s ‘humble home’.

“Besides, I thought you said he was a vampire,” Martin interjected.

“That’s right!  And you did say he lived in a castle, didn’t you, Douglas?”

“Like something out of a novel.”

“Do you reckon we _should_ take him, then?  I mean, if he _is_ a vampire, we can’t possibly take him to Fitton!”

“ _Arthur._ ”

“You know, Arthur, I think you have a point.  Why don’t you check?”

“Oh, come on, Douglas!  How could he possibly check?”

“The Holy Water!” Arthur gripped Douglas’ arm excitedly.  “The Holy Water I got from the cathedral!  That’ll show us if he’s a vampire!”

“Arthur, I forbid you to pour that bottle of tourist tat water over our client’s head.” Carolyn growled.

Arthur drooped, releasing his grip on the readied bottle.

Douglas, however, tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“You know, I’m not awfully comfortable with the idea of being trapped in a metal tube with a blood sucking demon for four hours. But, you know what you could do, Arthur?  You could slip a little of that water into his drink when you take the trolley round.  If he’s not a vampire, he won’t notice.  If he _is_ ….”

Arthur grinned.  “Brilliant.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she hissed.  “But be _quick_.”

Arthur nodded eagerly and hurried to the galley to ready the trolley.

“You know, I’m sure this is unethical,” Martin complained.  “We’re talking about drugging a passenger.”

“With _water_ , Martin.”

“That’s not the point, Douglas.  It’s dishonest.  I mean, what if he’s hydrophobic?”

“Or a vampire?”

“ _Douglas_.”

“Chaps!” Arthur exclaimed, bursting into the cockpit.  “It’s all ready!  Look, this is really clever! I got the holy water in my pocket here, see?  And it’s on my right side, so he won’t see it, because the trolley will be in the way.  And when I get his drink out, I’ll just lower the glass, like this and I’ll add it in, and he won’t even know!”

He beamed at them proudly.

“Ingenious Arthur.”

“Thanks, Douglas!”

“Are you still wittering?” Carolyn demanded, glowering at them all impressively from the door.  Her short fuse had evidently become shorter.

“Testy today, Carolyn?”

“Don’t you start.  _Bloody_ aristocrats.  I want this job to be over yesterday.  I want my pilots to stop twittering like birds and fly my plane.  And I want my steward,” she levelled her gimlet eye at Arthur. “To serve our passenger his drink.”

Arthur saluted smartly.  “Right oh, mum!”

“Just scream if you need help!” Douglas called after him.

Arthur waved cheerily.  He wouldn’t need help, of course.  He knew exactly what to do.  He had a stake ready and everything, tucked discretely into the drawer with the crisps.  Vampires didn’t want crisps, did they?

As he pondered this, he pulled up the trolley by the Count, who smiled thinly, watching him with unnerving intensity.

“Ah, young Arthur.  Are we prepared to embark?  I have a pressing desire to see your… country.”

Arthur smiled, grasping after his slipping confidence.

“Yeah, we’ll be going soon.  I just wanted to offer you an inflight drink before we take off on our flight inflight today.”

He reached for his pocket to unscrew the lid of the bottle, hand barely shaking at all.  Van Helsing would be proud.

The Count’s lip curled.  “No.  I do not drink… wine.  I have informed your mother.”

Arthur stared at him, baffled.

“We have juice?” he suggested, a little desperately.

“No.”  The Count turned away.

Inspiration struck.

“Oh no!  My arm jogged!” Arthur exclaimed loudly, jerking his hand, bottle and all.  An arc of water flew up like a fountain.

“ _Arthur_!”

Mum had seen.  She was storming down the aisle towards him, face like thunder.  Arthur opened his mouth to explain, but was forestalled by an alarming hissing noise.

Their passenger appeared to be fizzing, his skin bubbling and oozing like hot tar, his mouth stretched wide in a silent snarl of pain.

Arthur took a step back sharply, which was just as well, since the Count lurched forward, claw-like fingers outstretched.  He kept coming, crashing into the drinks trolley and tipping it completely over, mini-bottles and cans rolling down the aisle in all directions.  Arthur felt hot breath on his throat as those hands grasped the front of his shirt.

And he was falling and he didn’t know why.  He supposed the Count’s weight must have thrown him off balance.  He didn’t mind, though.  What was more interesting was _Mum_.

She was standing over him, hands outstretched as if she’d just pushed someone, looking down on the Count who, Arthur noticed, had been sent sprawling back into his seat. 

Her lips were thin, pressed together tightly, her eyes hard and sharp, like cut glass.  She was shaking, though not like she was cold or scared.   If anything, Arthur thought she looked a little scary, like one of those Avenging Angels in old books.

It was just like that time in Sainsbury’s with the strange old man when he was six. 

Except this time the strange old man was a vampire.

Arthur distantly registered exclamations from the cockpit, but he ignored them, rolling onto his hands and knees and fumbling for the crisps drawer in the fallen trolley. 

The Count was still thrashing and bubbling in his seat by the time he got it open and grabbed the stake and threw it with all his might.

It flopped uselessly to the ground.

Mum gave him a _look,_ but made no other comment, snatching the still mostly full bottle from his hand and dumping its contents all over the Count.

Who _shrieked_ , like GERTIs engine after the bird strike and collapsed in on himself.

Just like the Wicked Witch of the West, he thought, awed.

“Good _Lord_.  What happened?”

It was Douglas, staring aghast at the soggy remains of their erstwhile client.  Martin peered round his shoulder, eyes widening.

“Is that a pork chop?” he asked, pointing.

Mum always said Martin focused on the wrong details.

“No,” Arthur shuffled his feet, abashed.  “It’s beef.  Do you think I should have used pork?  Is that why it didn’t work?”

They all stared at him, then Mum groaned her despairing groan.

“A stake.  You’re meant to use a wooden stake, not steak, idiot child.”

“Oh,” he blinked, then grinned, rallying.  “Good thing you were here, Mum!  Chaps, she was brilliant!”

Mum nodded sharply.  She was shaking harder now, which made him think it might be time to put the kettle on.

“Well, congratulations, Arthur.  He _was_ a vampire.  You were right.”  Douglas looked like he wasn’t sure which fact to be most surprised by.   

Arthur grinned.

“Yeah!  We saved Fitton!”

Carolyn snorted and glowered balefully at her pilots.  “No thanks to _you_ , gentlemen.  And _why_ are we still sitting on this accursed runway?”

“Carolyn, you must be joking,” Martin protested.  “We heard screaming and then there was a vampire –”

“Vampire or not, this trip isn’t paying for itself.  We have a schedule and I intend to keep it.”

“This trip isn’t paying at all, since you just _murdered_ the client _._ ”

Carolyn smiled grimly.

“You mean the client who _paid in advance_?”


End file.
